The Silent Ones: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller(23)

An attack on a defenceless old lady, with children being questioned as suspects, was exactly the kind of story to bring the big boys over from the nationals. The muscle they had in terms of television coverage could be disastrous for the girls and their families.

Dana sighed as she continued her journey, leaving Conmore Street behind.

Rachel March had already given her a call to warn her they’d just heard that Bessie Wilford had died in hospital from her injuries, but she needn’t have bothered. The press were already on it, courtesy of Mrs Wilford’s family. Dana had scanned social media and caught an emotional video that Bessie’s fifteen-year-old great-granddaughter, Rose, had posted from outside the hospital.

The girl’s bloated, tear-streaked face had filled the screen as she pleaded with local people to get behind her family ‘to make that scum pay’.

Earlier, after she’d finished the phone call with Conor, Dana had spent the best part of an hour reading every last detail she could find about the case online. There was lots of it, and it had told her the extent of what was publicly known at that point.

But now, following Rose’s video, she sensed the mood of the posts becoming much darker.

In her capacity as consultant to the case, she had access to police information not yet disclosed to the public. Yet social media was proving very useful in getting a comprehensive angle on the case, particularly on the swiftly transforming mood of the locals.

And it wasn’t pretty. To compensate for the absence of police updates, the press had gone ahead and done what they did best: constructing headline-grabbing stories around sparse facts.

Now, with news of Bessie’s death leaking out, local news websites competed for attention with inflaming taglines accompanying reports that lacked any real detail or substance.

Local businesswomen’s daughters are now murder suspects.

Ten-year-olds suspected of beating local pensioner to death.

Dana noted with concern that the national press were already in on the act, online at least.

Echoes of Bulger killers in sleepy Nottinghamshire village, screamed the Daily Mail.

Breaking news: Wilford family demand justice was the Express’s take on the case.

The trial of Maddy Fletcher and Brianna Voce was already well under way in numerous online kangaroo courts. And it wasn’t looking at all favourable for the two girls.

Dana had closed her laptop at that point, suddenly grateful that she hadn’t time to peruse Twitter and Facebook again until later. She dreaded to think what was being said online, unmonitored and closer to home.

She knew only too well from personal experience that the villagers could be brutal and unforgiving when it came to the mistakes of others.

With only the flimsiest of details known about her suspension in the Collette Strang case, she’d received threatening letters and was once spat at on her own street by someone she often used to say good morning to.

She passed the school and manoeuvred the car into the right filter lane to turn just as the light turned green. She did a double take when she spotted a man who was the spitting image of Maddy’s dad, Tom, with a young boy of about seven or eight who looked pale and upset.

She’d seen a family photograph of the Fletchers online and knew Maddy had a brother of about that age.

She pushed her musings aside and focused on the journey, arriving in Hucknall ten minutes later and parking on a side street. It took her just five minutes to walk to the police station, a huge concrete structure with blacked-out windows that faced the busy road.

As she entered the building and made her way to the front desk, she noted that the interior was in even greater need of a facelift than when she’d last been there. Flakes of pale green paint littered the edges of the tiled floor, and a thick grimy border ran along the walls level with the backs of the grey plastic tub chairs.

She didn’t recognise the desk sergeant as she signed the visitor book to document that she was here to see Neary, then took a seat as he asked. Thankfully, there was nobody else in the waiting area.

Before she got the job working for the academy trust, Dana had been employed by the local authority as a juvenile therapist. She’d worked all across the county of Nottinghamshire, supporting young people in police custody.

It had been a career conducted at the uncomfortable end of life. There had been plenty of times back then when she’d got home very late, too tired to eat, too emotionally drained to sleep. It hadn’t been the best foundation for a healthy relationship. Looking back, it couldn’t have been easy for Orla either. Dana didn’t want to make the same mistake again, even though it was still early days with Lizzie.

When the opportunity at the academy trust had presented itself, she had welcomed the slower pace with open arms.

Her newly painted office, with its comfy upholstered chairs, potted plant and coffee machine, had helped soften the edges of the uncomfortable subjects she often had to raise in there.

Little did she know that it was the place where her professional unravelling would begin, followed swiftly by her personal life.

It was in this job she’d become involved in the case of Collette Strang and the death of her best friend.

An abrupt click, and a door opening to the left of the front desk shook her out of her thoughts. She stood up and smiled as the tall, broad figure of Conor Neary advanced towards her.

‘Dana! Am I glad to see you.’ He gripped her hand in both of his and squeezed it gratefully. ‘Come on through.’